


or set your teeth against my throat

by delimeful



Series: Delimeful's Bad Things Happen Bingo Fills [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Captivity, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, random villain oc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delimeful/pseuds/delimeful
Summary: Captured and put on display by arrogant bloodsuckers, Roman begins to lose hope that he'll ever get to see his small but tight-knit pack again.Who would have thought that a strange, sympathetic vampire would be the one to restore that hope?-BTHB: Defeated and Trophified
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Delimeful's Bad Things Happen Bingo Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848409
Comments: 9
Kudos: 125





	or set your teeth against my throat

Vampires, Roman was finding, seemed to have an even more shit sense of hospitality than he’d previously assumed.

Maybe it was ungenerous of him, considering this was the only coven he’d interacted with up close and personal, but he wasn’t really feeling particularly generous at the moment. When he’d been cornered, isolated from the rest of his pack, he’d expected a quick and valorous death, fighting to the last. Not… _this._

Another rock made contact with the bars of his cage, the clang of stone on metal vibrating around him. His ears twitched down to flatten against his skull without his input, and he snarled low in his throat as a jeering laugh rose from the crowd.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, being taken hostage for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind, bound and muzzled like some common animal, no, they had to parade him through the streets and batter his cage with pebbles and glass and whatever other projectiles the bloodsuckers thought fitting to torment their captive audience with.

None of it could get through the enchantment on the bars, so he wasn't struck, but it was still rough on the ears. And his feelings.

Not that they cared. That was probably the point, actually.

Gathering his resolve, he forced himself to remain still and unflinching as another shard of rock hit the cage and spun away, clenching his hands to keep them from trembling. None of this mattered. It didn’t matter what they did to him, because he would _not_ break. He wouldn’t tell them a single thing about his pack, not one scrap of information.

He would die first, and without regrets.

-

As it turned out, the coven-- Kin of Æternam, they called themselves-- didn’t seem to care for information. Not a single vampire spoke to him as he was moved further and further into the town, and he couldn’t exactly initiate a conversation himself with a gag in his mouth.

Instead, he watched, and found to no surprise that he didn’t like what he saw.

He’d known many vampires were nomadic, but it was one thing to distantly know and another thing entirely to see the human town around them, half the houses smoldering and the other half looking uncomfortably ransacked. He could see the dark splatters of dried blood along walls or among the dirt, though mercifully it seemed like it had been long enough since their invasion that any remaining human bodies had been cleared away.

Roman didn’t risk interacting with humans often. He knew the tales that were spread about werewolves, and the last thing his tiny pack needed was an angry mob on their tails. Even with his reservations, though, he would never wish something like this upon them. Upon _anyone._

The Æternam vamps walked among the ruins casually, as though this was everyday scenery, and Roman supposed that for them, it probably was. Simple routine; find a human settlement, feed to their unbeating hearts’ content, hold revel, and then depart again. Rinse and repeat.

It was enough to turn his stomach, and he was almost grateful when his view of the town was blocked off by their entry into the large stone fort that loomed over all else. Almost.

His opinion of the place went downhill as soon as he saw the ostentatious throne and the vampire sprawled across it, both placed on a literal gilded pedestal. Dark raven hair, corpse-like skin, and glowing red eyes painted the picture of the archetypal tyrant vamp. He found himself strangely disappointed by the lack of originality in the man’s presentation. If he was going to die to a bloodsucker, couldn’t it at least be one with a sense of style?

One of the attendant vamps pulled the door of his prison open, and Roman lunged against his restraints with all his might, snarling past the muzzle. The attendant flinched back, but the iron cuffs that bound him held firm no matter how hard he strained. The vampire on the throne laughed, the way one might at a child throwing a tantrum.

“Oh, you _are_ a spitfire, aren’t you? All the better.”

Roman tried to convey how much this guy’s villain aesthetic _sucked_ with his heated glare alone. He was pretty sure Virgil could have created a better evil persona than this guy in his sleep. At age twelve. While feverish. It was sad, really.

The platitudinous prick-- Roman instantly decided to alternate between very clever and very rude nicknames for the guy in his head-- beckoned, and the attendant unlocked the chain keeping him bolted to the floor of the cage. They proceeded to grab the connecting bar between the cuffs locked around his arms and maneuver him up the steps to the pedestal with probably more force than strictly necessary.

Roman had been riding in that cage for hours, and as such, had time to prepare for a lot of potential scenarios. He grew more and more tense the closer he got to the trite enthroned bastard, mentally readying himself for what was likely to be at best an assault on his person and at worst, a horrifying and gory death.

Instead, he was steered to the side of the throne, and then shoved to his knees, at which point he realized that a horrifying and gory death might not be so bad after all. Because now the attendant was locking his cuffs into a new platform, one that was designed to force him to stay hunched over and kneeling at the side of the throne. He growled, prying at the restraints, but there was little give in the cuffs. He was stuck like this, practically on display for the world to see.

“Perfect, right where a mutt like you belongs,” Vlad the Contemptible smiled sharply, as though proud of his pitiful insult.

Were all vampires this insufferably smug? Like, was it part of the package, along with the dumb looking fangs and the tacky glowing eyes? He was glad that werewolves had eyes that merely reflected light, like the respectable, well-designed creatures of nature they were.

It was possible that Roman was rambling, mentally, a little bit. He wished desperately that he could protest the indignity of it all, denounce these freaks and their humiliating tactics, but in this state, there was little he could do but glare impotently.

The bloodsucker seemed entirely too content to ignore him and his glaring hatred entirely for the next few hours, which confused Roman at first. Clearly, he was still alive for a reason, and he felt as though he’d done more than enough waiting to learn about his fate at this point. Plus, his knees hurt.

At the very least, the pain in the neck on the throne next to him seemed like the type to gloat, so why wasn’t he?

As dusk fell, Roman got his answer. More and more vamps filtered into the wide stone hall, filling the space with their corpse-cold bodies and idle chatter. Once the last bit of sun had faded over the horizon, the Toothed Tyrant slowly straightened up in his seat, drawing all the eyes in the room to him. This was what he’d been waiting for.

What was the point in gloating about your evil deeds without an audience to lavish you in praise for it?

“Kin of mine. As I’m sure many of you have noticed, we have a... _guest_ with us this evening.”

Roman shivered as those icy, glowing gazes moved towards him, jeering or morbidly curious or _hungry._ He pulled at the chains once more just to have something else to focus on, the shift and clink of the metal drowned out by his rapid heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the vamps could hear it, too. 

The pitiful excuse for a villain was still talking. “... fullest potency once the full moon hits, and our hunt will decide who claims such a reward.” His half-lidded gaze slid over to Roman. “A beast like this one has engaged in plenty of hunts before, I assume? Though, probably not as prey. I’m sure it’ll get used to the sensation eventually.”

Even with the gag, Roman could snarl as fierce as any wolf, and the rumbling growl emanating from his chest made some of the closer vamps lean away.

It didn’t seem to have any effect on the worst human leech of them all. He just smiled in a satisfied sort of way before rising to his feet. “What a rebellious spirit. Perhaps you should save that for the hunt, mutt?”

_Think up some new nicknames, you absolute bore,_ Roman thought at him, just in case those rumors about vampires reading minds were true.

The vamp walked closer, until he was at the edge of the platform and Roman had to crane his head back to see his face.

“Let’s give us both a taste of what’s to come, then.”

Without pause, there were suddenly hands on his shirt, dragging him upwards until the restraints threatened to dislocate something. One moment, he was nearly face to face with the vamp, meeting those eye-searing red pupils. In the next, his vision blurred as sharp pain shot through his neck.

The vamp had sunk its nasty fangs in on either side of his jugular, not deep enough to kill him, but enough that it would only take the slightest twitch of the head for his throat to be ripped right out. His body kept frozen even as he began to choke, his mouth tasting of iron and salt.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t attack, couldn’t even die until these monsters allowed it. The more he fought and resisted, the tighter their grasp on him would become, and the more he would suffer. It would be better to just give up now, save himself the trouble.

( _Why am I… That’s not right--_ ) 

Roman only realized the vampire was withdrawing when those sharp teeth finally pulled away carelessly, causing a new wave of pain to roll through him. He automatically tried to reach for his throat, to stem the bleeding, but his bound hands could barely rise a few inches. He bent his head down instead, his pride stinging silently as a cacophony of mockery sounded all around him.

Once his fingers touched flesh, however, he could only feel shallow cuts rather than the gaping wounds he knew should be there. He coughed wetly, and red splattered across his hands, but he could breathe once more. However bad the bite had been, it had healed near instantly.

Of course. It was beginning to sink in that they wouldn’t let him perish that easily.

The vampire king was speaking again, eyes brighter than before, and his words blurred together and slipped away from Roman’s understanding. He could only notice the smear of deep red on the vampire’s face, and shudder where he lay as a chill set into his bones.

-

Time passed in a haze, marked by the constant flurry of vamp activity in the fort around him, the occasional meal to keep him alive, and his connection to the ever-waxing moon.

He felt a faint sense of concern about the way days seemed to slip away, and also about how far away and hard to grasp the concern itself felt. There was something seriously wrong when the growing light of the moon felt more like an approaching deadline than a relief.

The one other thing marking the time, he would much rather forget. Every night without fail, no matter how he fought, the same vampire would drag him up and plunge dagger-like teeth into his throat, leaving him drained and weak on the cold floor afterwards.

Roman wasn’t a fool; he knew that the bites were the reason he felt so exhausted and fuzzy. He just couldn’t _do_ anything about it. The feeling of helplessness only grew stronger and stronger after each night, and slowly, he began to lose the will to fight the dreary feelings off.

By the time the night before the full moon hit, hope was hard to find.

He was slumped awkwardly against the ground when the door to the chamber creaked open, and the noise jolted him out of his dozing as quick as anything. His muscles went rigid and tense.

The head vamp hadn’t drank from him yet today, having left in the middle of the day with an extensive entourage for… something. It had probably been mentioned in earshot-- they weren’t very careful about what he did and did not hear-- but Roman hadn’t been paying enough attention. Maybe they were scouting out new territory?

Regardless, he had sort of been hoping it would keep the bloodsucker out of his hair for long enough that he could recover even just a bit before… before he ran out of time. So much for that.

To his surprise, there was no trace of the vamp’s normal arrogant strides. In fact, there was barely any sound at all. Roman could only tell that someone was approaching by the shifting of shadows and that dusty undead smell.

Suddenly, there was a cold palm on his arm, and he jerked up with a jagged snarl, his mind screaming at him to do anything to prevent being bitten again. The palm was yanked away instantly, and Roman could see the silhouette of the vamp before him.

It definitely wasn’t the head vamp. Smaller, and with curled hair that reflected the torchlight. He couldn’t see his expression, and his mind still screamed dangerous. His growl increased in intensity as the vamp extended a hand again, but he’d called Roman’s bluff: he had no way to defend himself in the restraints. Whatever the vamp was going to do, he couldn’t stop it.

The vamp’s other hand rose, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

It made it all the more surprising when he heard the clank of a key in a lock. His eyes shot open, and to his disbelief, the chain connecting his cuffs to the platform went loose, no longer attached. A moment later, the vamp’s hands were on his cuffs, but rather than grab them and drag him, there was another clank.

For the first time in days, fresh air grazed his wrists. His hands were free.

A surge of adrenaline hit him, and he twisted quicker than the vamp could react, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the abdomen and a hand over his throat. It would keep the creature from getting enough air to call out an alarm. With his other hand, he immediately tore at the muzzle, his nails going claw-sharp to tear through the straps. He spat the remnants of the wretched thing out, and turned his attention to the vamp.

Cold hands curled over Roman’s own, like he wanted to pry the hand off his throat, but other than that, he wasn’t struggling against Roman’s hold. Oddly enough, his chest was rising and falling in an uncanny mimicry of panicked breathing, and even his eyes seemed oddly dark for a vamp. Roman would have thought him a human if not for the unmistakable fangs.

His grip tightened at the reminder. “You’re not getting any more blood out of me,” he growled, his voice rough and crackly. His whole body felt out of practice. If he stood up and bolted, he risked falling flat on his own face, and if he turned and the vamp lunged…

No. Easier to just… just vanquish the vamp so he couldn’t do anything. One less thing to worry about during his escape.

He lifted his other hand, claws pinched together as a makeshift stake. The vampire twitched once, his mouth opening briefly as though to speak, and then seemed to slump. His hands stopped tugging at Roman’s fingers around his neck, and he pinched his eyes closed, bracing for the blow.

Roman frowned. Was this a ploy for sympathy?

He could feel the way the vamp trembled under him, unnaturally lifelike.

… It was an effective one. _Shit._

He lowered his hand slowly, loosened his grip, waiting for the moment the stranger dropped the ruse and lunged. It didn’t come. He just kept waiting for Roman to hurt him.

He abruptly felt a little sick to his stomach. He let go of the vamp’s throat. The guy opened one eye slowly, like he thought it was a trick.

“If you get up from this spot, if you even _twitch_ before I’m out of this building, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Roman threatened, a growl under the words and his lip curling up slightly to bare his teeth. “You won’t get mercy twice.”

The vamp’s expression did something complicated (Confusion? Relief? _Disappointment?_ ) but when Roman scuttled back, he stayed laid out on the floor, not moving a muscle. Roman let a breath out slowly, some of the tension fading from him. “Well… good. Keep doing that.”

He could practically hear Virgil sighing as his awkwardness overwhelmed any menace his threat might have instilled. It wasn’t his fault he was off-script, okay? This vampire was… weird.

Roman shuffled back a few more steps on weak legs, and then, once he was sure he was far enough away, he let the shift wash over him like a warm breeze. Four unsteady legs were better than two, and if he leaned a little on his instincts, his inner wolf would make his gait mostly smooth. It was a small but invaluable aid as as he sprinted down long, musty halls until he was finally, finally out of that cursed fortress.

Roman was so relieved he could have cried. He was still weak, and his head was still foggy, but he didn't stop running until there was finally trees around him and dirt under his feet. As he collapsed, the night air still tasted like victory.


End file.
